The Little Things

It's truly shameful how packed I still am from college.

I just liberated my front and back car seat from odds and ends: tampons, a white dress, Calvin Klein strappy sandals. My job hunt and internship load is picking up and in an attempt to ward off any panic attacks I dug out my 2010 Audrey Hepburn calender.

Two months left in the little Audrey montage. I flipped to December to see the picture (a strange styling of Audrey with a fishing net) and there on December 25 was a large, fat, heart-punching reminder.

Scrawled around the day Christ was born in the rather inelegant handwriting of my ex-boyfriend, was the epithet "On this day...nothing happened."

My ex is a stout atheist, I have watched him drunkenly debate Jesus's existence with a surprising about of hammered eloquence. So much so that my the end of the discussion and five cigarettes his opponent is saying things to the extent of "I love God, but you're a cool cat."

I don't know what possessed him to mark my calender. I once caught him leafing through the pages to see if I had written down important dates like his winter break or when he'd leave for trips.

I sat for a bit in my room, laughing at this completely characteristic yet still surprising little note my ex boyfriend left me. It made me happy, but also slightly sad.

Innately I understand the process of break ups. The world--my world, his world--doesn't stop because our relationship does.

I guess I am just bittersweetly aware that within the proverbial Audrey calenders, on the date of our anniversary, it may one day read: "On this day...nothing happened."